And be a Villian

“Yeah. I thought so too.”

“You did?” Wolfe was a little a

Cramer shook his head. “I didn't say I'd compared them, I said I'd thought of it. What made me think of it was the fact that it couldn't be done, because there weren't any lists to compare.”

“Nonsense. There must have been. Did you look for them?”

“Sure we did, but too late. In Orchard's case there was a little bad management.

His office, a little one-room hole in a building on Forty-second Street, was locked, and there was some fiddling around looking for an employee or a relative to let us in. When we finally entered by having the superintendent admit us, the next day, the place had been cleaned out-not a piece of paper or an address plate or anything else. It was different with the woman, Poole, because it was in her office that she was shot-another one-room hole, on the third floor of an old building on Nineteenth Street, only four blocks from my place. But her body wasn't found until nearly noon the next day, and by the time we got there that had been cleaned out too. The same way. Nothing.”

Wolfe was no longer a

“Plenty. The sheets were printed at different shops, and neither of them had a list of subscribers or anything else that helps. Neither Orchard nor the woman employed any help. Orchard left a widow and two children, but they don't seem to know a damn' thing about his business, let alone who his subscribers were. Beula Poole's nearest relatives live out West, in Colorado, and they don't know anything, apparently not even how she was earning a living. And so on. As for the routine, all covered and all useless. No one seen entering or leaving-it's only two flights up-no weapon, no fingerprints that help any, nobody heard the shot-”

Wolfe nodded impatiently. “You said you hadn't made any start, and naturally routine has been followed. Any discoverable association of Miss Poole with Mr Orchard?”

“If there was we can't discover it.”

“Where were Miss Fraser and the others at the time Miss Poole was shot?”

Cramer squinted at him. “You think it might even develop that way?”

“I would like to put the question. Wouldn't you?”

“Yeah. I have. You see, the two offices being cleaned out is a detail we've saved up.” Cramer looked at me. “And you'll kindly not peddle it to your pal Cohen of the Gazette.” He went on to Wolfe: “It's not so easy because there's a leeway of four or five hours on when she was shot. We've asked all that bunch about it, and no one can be checked off.”

“Mr Savarese? Miss Shepherd? Mr Shepherd?”

“What?” Cramer's eyes widened. “Where the hell does Shepherd come in?”

“I don't know. Archie doesn't like him, and I have learned that it is always quite possible that anyone he doesn't like may be a murderer.”

“Oh, comic relief. The Shepherd girl was in Atlantic City with her mother, and still is. On Savarese I'd have to look at the reports, but I know he's not checked off because nobody is. By the way, we've dug up two subscribers to Orchard's tip sheet, besides Savarese and the Fraser woman. With no result. They bet on the races and they subscribed, that's all, according to them.”

“I'd like to talk with them,” Wolfe declared.

“You can. At my office any time.”

“Pfui. As you know, I never leave this house on business. If you'll give Archie their names and addresses he'll attend to it.”

Cramer said he'd have Stebbins phone and give them to me. I never saw him more co-operative, which meant that he had never been more frustrated.

They kept at it a while longer, but Cramer had nothing more of any importance to give Wolfe, and Wolfe hadn't had anything to give Cramer to begin with. I listened with part of my brain, and with the other part tried to do a little offhand sorting and arranging. I had to admit that it would take quite a formula to have room for the two coincidences as such, and therefore they would probably have to be joined together somehow, but it was no part-brain job for me.

Whenever dough passes without visible value received the first thing you think of is blackmail, so I thought of it, but that didn't get me anywhere because there were too many other things in the way. It was obvious that the various aspects were not yet in a condition that called for the application of my particular kind of talent.

After Cramer had gone Wolfe sat and gazed at a distant corner of the ceiling with his eyes open about a thirty-second of an inch. I sat and waited, not wanting to disturb him, for when I saw his lips pushing out, and in again, and out and in, I knew he was exerting himself to the limit, and I was perfectly satisfied. There had been a good chance that he would figure that he had helped all he could for a while, and go back to his reading until Cramer made a progress report or somebody else got killed. But the editorial had stung him good. Finally he transferred the gaze to me and pronounced my name.

“Yes, sir,” I said brightly.

“Your notebook. Take this.”

I got ready.

“Former subscribers to the publication of Cyril Orchard, or to that of Beula Poole, should communicate with me immediately. Put it in three papers, the Gazette, the News, and the Herald-Tribune. A modest display, say two inches.

Reply to a box number. A good page if possible.”

“And I'll call for the replies. It saves time.”

“Then do so.”

I put paper in the typewriter. The phone rang. It was Sergeant Purley Stebbins, to give me the names and addresses of the two Orchard subscribers they had dug up.

Chapter Fifteen So begi

I admit that isn't exactly fair, because most of our Monday activities had to do with Orchard. Wolfe seemed to think it was important for him to have a talk with those two subscribers, so instead of usin? the phone I went out after them. I had one of them in the office waiting for him at 11 a.m.-an assistant office manager for a big tile company. Wolfe spent less than a quarter of an hour on him, knowing, of course, that the cops had spent more and had checked him. He had bet on the races for years. In February a year ago he had learned that a Hialeah daily double featured in a sheet called Track Almanac had come through for a killing, and he had subscribed, though the ten bucks a week was a sixth of his salary. He had stayed with it for nine weeks and then quit. So much for him.

The other one was a little different. Her name was Marie Leco